Not for Jay

O. My. God. Jay died. It feels like there’s almost a fight for people to make it outta their 20’s alive. Jay died…yesterday. He just made 23, if he was even that old. Just graduated college, just moved back with his family…he was just 23—and died. I know old people, misers even—plagued, crippled, grumpy…old people, who, by judging the stats, are past their expiration date…I don’t mean that, lord. I don’t mean that. I just can’t believe at 23 it’s time to go. Not for Jay—and Jay wasn’t particularly my favorite person in the world—you had to appreciate Jay for Jay, he wasn’t for everybody. He was one of those people that you always felt concerned about because he lived pretty raw. The “I don’t give a fuck” raw. And life whether we acknowledge it or not is risky business and living everyday on the edge as if it were your last, is how I felt Jay was living, isn’t as cool as it sounds. But not at 23. Not for Jay.

I’m one of those of people who, no matter the circumstance, find light in the darkest of corners—at least I try. I overlook a lot. I forgive a lot. I hope a lot, and probably pray more than I should—all of this to say, though I don’t think 23 is ever the right time for anyone to go—especially for anyone as alive as Jay was, but maybe it was best. Maybe before you die you’re given the decision not to by a tiny voice in the dark. Maybe letting himself go was a conscious decision after doing all the things he had cared to do, seeing all the places he cared to see, loving all the people that cared to love him back. I wonder how much of him, if not all of him, thought it was time…and let go.

It was to my understanding that he found out he was positive late this past summer. I would go to his funeral if I were asked—not only to pay respect but just because I don’t feel this too be true yet. He was Aaron’s best friend. And Aaron I consider like family. I wonder how he’s handling the news, if you can call something this distressing news.

Ciao.